Skintight (24 page)

She nodded. “Your father admitted he made a lot of mistakes with you.”

“Ya
think?
” he said with bitter sarcasm. “He didn't understand the first goddamn thing about me.”

“That's probably true. From what he told me, your mom was really good with you and he didn't know much about kids at all. So when she died and you were this frighteningly bright kid who didn't like any of the things he did, he didn't have the first idea what to do with you.”

His stomach rolled and pitched queasily. “But that didn't stop him from trying to browbeat me into being a clone of Big Jim McCall.”

“Oh, grow up,” she snapped. “We all have crappy things to deal with as kids. You think my folks approved of what I wanted to do with my life?” She pinned him in place with a withering glare. “Parents mess up. Get over it.”

Her contempt lashed him on the raw, and he struck out blindly. “Screw you. At least you knew your folks loved you. The only time my old man felt affection for me was when I could field a pop-up or score a base run. In other words, goddamn never! Or, oh, yeah—when I was long gone, apparently, and he decided my being a math geek wasn't such an embarrassment to him after all. Well, where the hell was he to say, ‘Everything's gonna be all right. I'm proud of you' when I was fourteen and on my way to a university where the next youngest student was at least old enough to drive? I knocked myself out for his approval and he
made me feel like the world's biggest loser for my efforts. So, honey, he may have talked a good game to you but take it from someone who was there. His parenting skills were more than ‘messed up.' They were nonexistent.”

“At least he didn't lie through his teeth!” Storming over to the coat closet, she wrenched the door open and disappeared inside. A horrendous racket ensued as she banged around. “At least he never made you fall in love with him then ripped your heart out and stomped it into the ground!” She reappeared, scarlet-faced, with the Plexiglas box gripped between her white-knuckled hands.

Jax froze, all his ire draining away. Aw, crap. He'd messed up so bad, and he had to fix it. He stepped forward to say he was sorry, to make her realize how much he loved her, too.

Before he could even open his mouth, however, Treena slammed the box into his stomach. Sheer reflex made him grab it.

“Here. Take your goddamn ball and go. For whatever faults your father had, he was honest. He had integrity.” She herded him toward the door but stopped just shy of it to look him squarely in the eye. “And Jackson, or Jax or whatever the hell you're calling yourself? He was twice the man you are.”

“No.” Nausea rushing up his throat, he hunched over as if she'd just kicked him squarely between the legs. For a second he was eleven, twelve, thirteen years old again where his reality was the knowledge that he might be book smart, but nothing he did would ever measure up to larger-than-life Big Jim McCall.

He swallowed the sickness the best he could and
reached out to touch her hair. “Don't say that,” he whispered. “Please, Treena, don't tell me that.”

Her face was stony as she ripped open the door. She thrust an arm out, her index finger pointing rigidly to the corridor. “Get out of my house. I never want to see you again.”

Unable to discern the least bit of indecision on her face and hurting so badly he wasn't sure he could draw a full breath, he trudged out the door.

It slammed behind his back the instant his bare heels cleared the threshold.

 

T
REENA SLID DOWN
the door until her knees were wobbling in front of her eyes. Wrapping her arms around her shins, she buried her face between her knees and cried, huge, wracking sobs that threatened to tear her lungs out of her chest, to rend her broken heart from its mooring. She cried until she had no tears left. Then she curled limply on her side in the fetal position.

She had no idea how much time had passed when a sudden knock erupted like a gunshot on the panel above her head. Her heart jumped in shock but she stayed where she was, willing whoever it was to go away. The knock came again, then the door opened, stopping abruptly when it hit her body.

“What the hell?” Carly's voice said. “Treena? Are you in there? We should take off pretty soon for the audition.”

Right. The audition.
A thin thread of determination found its way through her despair and Treena pulled herself up off the floor.

Carly fell into the apartment. She swore, righted her
self and took a long, hard look at Treena, who figured she must look pretty bad because her friend's face paled.

“Oh, my God,” Carly said. “What happened? What did that bastard do?”

T
HE MATTRESS DIPPED
next to Ellen's hip and she smiled as Mack leaned down and pressed his lips to the back of her neck. With a hum of pleasure, she arched like a cat beneath the sensations he invoked.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he murmured in her ear, then changed the angle of his head to kiss the nerve-rich curve where her neck flowed into her shoulder. He stroked her hip through the blankets. “It's almost eleven—I bet you haven't slept this late in ages.” With one last kiss, he pushed back from the bed.

Missing his nearness, she rolled onto her back and stretched luxuriously, feeling a deep feminine satisfaction when his dark chocolate eyes went almost black. “That's true,” she agreed and sat up, tucking the sheet beneath her armpits. “On the other hand, it's also been an age since I've participated in such vigorous activity.”

He laughed and handed her a robe. That's when she realized he must have been back to his apartment already this morning, because last night's suit and tie had been replaced by his usual neatly pressed chinos and a black T-shirt. But she forgot all about his clothing when he flashed her the sweetest smile she'd ever seen on his craggy face.

“You sure look pretty in the morning,” he said. “And I'd like nothing more than to tumble you onto your tidy little backside and love you silly one more time.” His smile turned wry. “But I'm an old guy and you wore me out. So, how about I feed you instead? You hungry?”

Her stomach growled as if on cue and they both laughed. Pulling on the robe, she rose from the rumpled sheets and tied the chenille belt around her waist. “It's a little late, I suppose, to pretend I couldn't eat a thing.”

“I'd be real disappointed if you did. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Delight bloomed. “You
made
it? Oh, my gosh. You're a regular Renaissance man.”

His eyebrows elevated. “Now that's something I can honestly say I've never been called.”

“It's what you are, though. I have yet to see anything you're unable to do. You keep this entire complex running, you cook, you're
very
good in…well.” Cheeks heating as she glanced at the bed, she cleared her throat.

He grinned and slung his arm around her waist, guiding her from the room. “You're very good in…well, too.” Splaying his workingman's hand possessively over her hip, he gazed down at her with warm eyes. “I have to tell you, Ellen, that last night was the best time I've had in years.”

“For me, too.”

He halted in front of the bathroom and she thought he was going to kiss her. He did, but it was a butterfly peck on her lips, there one second then gone, with only a whisper of sensation left in its wake. When he raised his head he tipped it toward the bathroom door. “Would you like a minute in the…?”

Lord, she was crazy about this man. “Yes, please. In fact, give me a few minutes and I'll join you in the kitchen.”

“You got it. What would you like to drink with your omelet?”

“Tea, please. If you'll just turn on the kettle, I'll select which kind when I get there.”

She used the facilities, washed her hands and face and brushed her teeth. As she attempted to bully her hair into something that resembled an actual style instead of the obvious case of bed head it was, she thought about the man in her kitchen.

And she smiled. Mack might prefer a select number of positions when it came to lovemaking, but that certainly hadn't detracted from the quality of his work. She got dreamy-eyed just thinking about it. The first time had been all hot, frantic passion. But the second time had been slow hands and dark words and a fever that had built and built until she'd thought she'd spontaneously combust. And he was a postcoital cuddler. She grinned at her image in the mirror. A postcoital cuddler who cooked.

Life didn't get much better than that.

She saw when she rejoined him that he'd used her best everyday dishes and set a pretty table. It even included a motley arrangement of flowers, which he must have picked from the grounds and jammed into a water glass.

He handed her a mug of steaming water as he passed her on his way to the table with a short stack of buttered toast. She quickly chose an Irish Breakfast blend out of her selection in the cupboard and glanced at Mack over her shoulder as she brewed her cup of tea. “What can I do to help?”

“Come take your seat. I just have to grab the platter out of the oven and we're in business.” He pulled out a chair for her and ran callused fingertips over her bare skin where the collar of her robe slipped as she sat.

She shivered in pleasure. Winston had possessed banker's hands—all smooth skin and manicured nails, and for more than two decades she'd loved their touch. She'd had no idea until she'd felt Mack's hard-textured hands on her last night that rough-skinned fingers could contribute such an exciting level of tactile eroticism to the senses.

He served them omelets rich with green onions, tomatoes and cheese, along with fried potatoes and toast. Their conversation was desultory as they made inroads into his fare.

Ellen finally pushed her plate back and sighed. “Oh, my,” she said with utter contentment. “That was a treat.”

He accepted her compliment, but then gave her one of his no-nonsense looks. “You know, I've been thinking.”

She planted her chin in her palm and smiled, enjoying simply looking at his solid shoulders and lived-in face. “And?”

“And I think we get on well together.
Very
well.”

“I think we do, too. It's pretty amazing, really, considering all the fussing and fighting we did up until a few days ago.”

“Yeah, well.” Dull red climbed his strong neck. “Much as I hate to admit it, I have to take the blame for most of that. The first time I saw you I thought you were the prettiest thing I'd ever clapped eyes on and wanted you on the spot. But instead of saying so, I regressed to grade-school behavior. It must be clear to you by now
that my courting skills began and ended with Maryanne. I met her in the sixth grade and married her right out of high school.”

“No kidding?” The knowledge startled her. “I had no idea you'd married that young.”

“Yeah. We managed to defy the failure-rate statistics for teenage weddings and had a marriage that actually grew stronger over the years instead of falling apart by the time we'd reached our midtwenties.” He gave his head an impatient shake. “But that's not what I wanted to talk about. Like I said, you and I mesh really well together. I think we ought to make this relationship permanent.”

She straightened in her seat. “As in
get married?
”

“Sure. Why not? It's a great idea.”

“It's an insane idea. Mack, we've had
one
date.”

“And look how well that turned out.” He pushed his plate aside and folded his forearms on the table, leaning toward her with a winning smile. “I considered just living together, but I've got two impressionable daughters to think about.”

“Who, if I remember correctly, are thirty-six and thirty-three years old.” But she couldn't prevent the smile that curled her lips. He looked so good, sitting across from her with his strong arms resting on the table and his dark eyes intent on getting his way. But it was his you-gotta-love-me grin that really grabbed her heart.

“Okay, so they're not exactly babes in the woods anymore,” he admitted. “Still, I'm sure they'd much rather see their old man duly wed than living in sin with the last of the red-hot librarians.” His smile turned downright cocky. “And admit it. You're tempted.”

“The crazy thing is, I am. But I'm a cautious woman by nature and—”

He snorted. “Oh, yeah, I could tell that by the way you hauled me in here by my tie last night.”

Although she felt her cheeks flame again, she knew this particular heat was generated by a covert pride, not embarrassment. She had to admit she'd considered that a pretty hot-mama move, herself.

Still.
“That was an impulse—and an extremely uncharacteristic one, I might add. Also, while I might have been a bit precipitous jumping into bed with you, I definitely don't leap into marriage with someone with whom, up until a few short days ago, I've done nothing but trade insults.”

“But you're not blowing off the idea entirely, right?”

She gave him her most demure smile. “Let's just say I'm not dismissing the possibility for some future date.”

“Some
near
future date,” he promptly stated. “Neither one of us is getting any younger.”

“No, we aren't. Which to me means we're mature enough to get to know each other before we go rushing off to the Chapel of Love. So convince me a permanent relationship would be a smart move on our part, then we'll talk timing.”

“All right, now we're talking my language.” Rubbing his hands together, he rose to his feet and came around to pull out her chair. “Let's step into your office and I'll give you a quick lesson on how a master negotiator operates.”

“Or a master operator negotiates,” she suggested drily. Heat started building deep inside of her, but she gave him her don't-mess-with-the-librarian face. “This ‘office' would be my bedroom, I take it?”

He wagged his eyebrows at her.

“You do realize, don't you, that by getting to know each other I meant in more than merely the biblical sense?” Then without awaiting an answer, she demanded, “Besides, what happened to being an ‘old guy' that I'd worn out?”

“Well, it's the damnedest thing,” he murmured as he hustled her down the hall. “Turns out I recover a helluva lot quicker than I thought.”

 

T
HE MUSIC FOR THE
audition's final number died away but Treena kept moving to keep her muscles warm until her heart rate decreased. She stepped side to side, alternately shaking out and stretching her arms.

“Thank you,” called
la Stravaganza's
general manager from the darkness of the auditorium. The other dancers milled around as they, too, went through their cool down routines. Treena could tell the ones who weren't familiar with the show's procedure, because they tried to peer past the bright lights that flooded the stage, clearly expecting to hear an immediate verdict from the judges. Treena, knowing Vernetta-Grace's spiel by heart, headed for the dressing rooms, and Carly fell into step beside her.

The GM's voice followed them backstage. “Those of you who already dance for
la Stravaganza
,” she called in her usual brisk, no-nonsense tones, “may expect a letter informing you whether your contract will be renewed on your station by the end of the last show Thursday night. If we require anything further from the rest of you, we'll contact you by phone Friday morning.”

“Thank you for participating and have a good day,” Carly recited in crisp unison with Vernetta-Grace's dwindling voice as she and Treena headed down the backstage corridor.

They were the first ones in the dressing room and all the energy Treena had summoned to get her through the tryout dribbled away like water through a preschooler's hands. Only sheer stubborn pride had kept her moving for the past hour and a half—she'd worked too damn hard to let some man torpedo everything she'd been killing herself to achieve. So she had emptied her mind of everything except the performance she needed to give in order to pass the audition. Now that it was over, however, she could barely hold her head upright, and the dam she'd hastily erected to keep the pain of Jax's betrayal at bay was springing leaks faster than Hans Brinker's dike.

Still, she felt a wisp of pride as she turned to look at her friend. “I think I did it,” she said wearily. “I think I passed.”

“I know you did,” Carly said. “You were amazing—and I don't just mean because of the extraordinary circumstances.”

“I hurt in every muscle in my body, though,” she admitted. “What I wouldn't give for a good night's sleep.” Her eyes burned from all the tears she'd cried earlier, but when she looked at her reflection in the mirror she was surprised to see that the ice-bath therapy Carly had insisted upon before they'd left home had actually done the trick. It had involved Treena plunging her face into a bowl full of ice water while her friend held her hair back, but between that and the tea bags she'd pressed
to her eyes while Carly had driven them to the Avventurado, her swollen face and bloodshot eyes had been reduced to a manageable level. Extra makeup had taken care of the rest—or so she preferred to believe.

Catching a glimpse of Carly stripping out of her crop-top next to her elicited a sudden sharp tug to her conscience.
Good God, Treena, have you had one thought today that included anyone other than you?

“I'm sorry,” she said contritely. “I didn't even ask how you did.” In previous years she'd had a good idea of how everyone had performed at an audition, but today it had been all she could do to focus on her own performance.

Her friend looked up from peeling down her tights with the tiny built-in panties and grinned. “I aced it, girlfriend, and so did you. But you know who didn't?” A deep-throated laugh slid out of her. “Our good pal Julie-Ann.”

Surprise filtered through Treena's general misery. “You're kidding.”

“I'm not. Oh, it was nothing dramatic like her blowing the thing all to hell and gone. But she was a far cry from her usual standards, and I gotta tell you, toots, it was a joy to see. Did you notice the brunette with the jazz-baby haircut? About twenty-two, maybe twenty-three years old, wearing a red unitard?”

She shook her head.

“Well, the girl was dynamite, and I think it occurred to little Miz Julie-A for probably the first time in her life that maybe she'd be wiser to look to her own laurels rather than spending all her time ragging on the older dancers in the troupe. Because if there's one given you can count on in this biz it's that there will always
be a new crop of younger, prettier,
better
dancers out there ready and willing to take your job.”